


Unorthodox Methods

by compo67



Series: Chicago Verse [119]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anger, Arguing, Dialogue Heavy, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Frustrated Sam, Grumpy Old Men, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Light Angst, M/M, Physical Therapy, Post-Series, Recovery, Tough Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 04:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13139205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: Dean is not a physical therapist. But he takes a stab at motivation with an unorthodox method.





	Unorthodox Methods

“Sam.” 

“Dean.”

“I hate hospital food.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not the patient.”

“It’s like, would it kill them to season shit? Have they never heard of cayenne?”

“You’re such a snob.”

“It isn’t snobbery to understand that you add a little garlic to mashed potatoes. Sheesh. This is just. I can’t eat it.”

“Good, because that’s my lunch!”

“You had your chance to eat it.”

“Now I want it.”

“Nope. You snooze, you lose.”

“You hardly gave me a chance to eat it.”

“Maybe you should have listened to our pal Bree in PT today and tried eating with your right hand.”

“Oh, here we go. This I need.”

“Yeah, Sam, you do need it. Either you start taking baby steps or I’ll shove you out of the damn nest--one boot so far up your ass you’ll be able to tell me exactly which pair of boots I’m wearing that day.”

“I’d like to see you even attempt to do that. And for your information, asshole, I did try.”

“Calling it quits after two half-assed tries is not what I call trying.”

“You aren’t the one who had the stroke!”

“And you aren’t the one who watched you have the stroke!”

“FINE. Eat it all. Eat all my meals. Why don’t you go talk to your new friend--Bree--and go have dinner together in the hospital cafeteria where you can both cut up pieces of meatloaf with your right hands. And try not to choke!” 

“Maybe I will. Actually, you know what? Sounds. Like. A. Plan. I’ll just grab all my stuff and get out of here, since I’m causing you so much trouble.”

“Great. I’m sick of you yammering on about how I’m not trying hard enough. I’m trying and that’s enough. While you’re at it, why don’t you get Bree to buy you dinner with her staff discount? I bet you’ll be fascinated with another story of hers about how she was on the volleyball team in college.”

“Someone has to make conversation or it’d just be fifty minutes of god damn silence. And so what if I let her go on about her volleyball team? It’s called being polite.”

“Polite? What a fantastic definition of manners, Dean. You won’t mind if I just close my eyes and ignore you for the next three hundred years and replace all your words with farting noises. That’s just being polite.”

“Wow, you think I’m gonna put up with your shit for the next three hundred years? Who the fuck you think you’re kidding? You got ten minutes left with me--if you’re lucky. And I don’t care if you replace all my words with farting noises. I invented that.”

“You think  _ you _ put up with  _ me?! _ ”

“Yep. Have since 1983, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam--and I’ll have you know, I’m the one who puts up with  _ you _ .”

“Nah. Nope. Nuh uh. Older siblings put up with the bratty baby siblings. It’s natural order.”

“Who leaves the toilet seat up? Who gets up to pee at least five times every night and just has to wake me up to let me know? Who listens to the same three records over and over again? Who leaves the bread out and uses five different pans just to make a sandwich? Who never replaces the toilet paper? Who never puts the cap back on the toothpaste?”

“Couldn’t possibly be me. I am a fucking joy to live with.”

“Say that closer to my face, Dean.” 

“Who leaves laundry everywhere? Who never eats breakfast and then gets home all cranky and surly? That’s right. I said surly. You,  _ Sammy _ , are no peach yourself. Who leaves books on the floor in giant piles for me to trip over? Who insists on going to the god damn opera but won’t go to more than one monster truck show?” 

“I’m warning you!”

“Of what? You gonna leap out of bed, pull out a bunch of books, build a pile, and let me trip over it? Ooh, I’m so scared, Sammy.”

“Let me go!” 

“I’m not touching you.”

“Quit it, Dean!” 

“Quit what? I don’t have a hand on you. But you know, the only place I’m not exerting any force on is a certain arm. Feel free to use it. Hey, remember that time I left that inflatable Bozo the Clown in the shower and you were this close to peeing yourself? Or what about that time I cut a piece of pie from the middle, because I wanted a piece without crust? Man, that was some good eating. And you know what? I might just buy another tub of the Slaughterhouse Five this year. You remember that, don’t you, Sammy? Five different kinds of smoked meat conveniently bundled up for prime eating out of the container while I watch the latest episode of Family Guy. Maybe I’ll also just rearrange the living room, take out all those bookshelves, and put in a bigger television. Come on. Here we go, right here. Right where the money is. And hey, if all your books are gone, I can really experience the joy of Seth MacFarlane on a sixty inch screen over and over and over and over…”

Sam takes a swing at Dean.

With his right hand.

His fist connects with Dean’s jaw--perfect aim. 

Dean smiles and slips his left hand over Sam’s right. “Sam,” Dean murmurs and gently slips his hand into Sam’s. “That’s a great start.”

Tears well in Sam’s eyes. He unclenches his fist. “How? You didn’t… I didn’t… I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“Provoked,” Dean answers. He squeezes Sam’s hand. “You got nothing to apologize for. I thought, maybe it’d help if I went… unorthodox.” 

“That was too much.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I hate physical therapy.”

“I know.”

“I wanna leave.”

“I know.”

“I hate this whole place.”

“I know.”

“Dean?”

“Sam?”

“Please, take me home.”

Dean nods. He picks up the fork from the tray table and places it into Sam’s right hand. “Yep,” he says, helping Sam take hold of the fork. “That’s the plan, baby.” 

They both hate hospital food. 

So Dean starts making a grocery list and a menu for next week--when Sam can finally go home.

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas! <3
> 
> i hope that no matter where you are, you're warm, relaxed, and loved. you are certainly loved here, by me and these two knuckleheads. cheers! :D


End file.
